


just a haircut

by girl0nfire



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: I can't be the only one who thinks haircuts are really intimate?, M/M, OH HEY LOOK I WROTE STEVE'S POV, Right?, Superhusbands, also surprise Howling Commandos cameo, unrepentant cuddly fluff, with bonus feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve likes to take care of Tony.  Sometimes, this means making him sit still long enough for a haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a haircut

“Tony, please.”

“Tony, hold _still_.”

“Tony, I swear, I am going to take your ear off. You’re like a five-year-old!”

Steve has no idea why he thought cutting Tony’s hair was going to be anything but an exercise in supreme futility. And Steve _knows_ futility; he fought in the Battle of the Bulge.

Sighing, he grips the smaller man’s shoulders for what feels like the hundredth time (really, it’s the seventh), and forces him to look straight ahead again. Frustrated, he snaps, “Now stay _still_.”

Which of course means that, as soon as Steve releases him, Tony twists around in the chair to look up a Steve, narrowly missing poking out his eye on the scissors Steve’s holding.

“Remind me why _you’re_ cutting my hair? I have people for that, Cap.”

Steve shushes him, poking him on the shoulder so he’ll turn around again. Crouching a bit, Steve takes a comb to the back of Tony’s head and replies, “Because if I left you to your own devices, you’d end up looking like Tom Hanks at the end of _Castaway_ before you thought a haircut was necessary.”

“Who taught you how to work Netflix?” Steve can see the smug grin settling on Tony’s face in the bathroom mirror. He _may_ tug a bit harder on Tony’s hair than is strictly necessary as he combs it flat down the back of his head.

“Tony, that’s not funny. I _can_ use the television.”

Carefully, Steve snips under the comb; tendrils of Tony’s dark hair glide down to join the pile already gathering on the grey bathroom tiles. “Besides, you and I both know you like the attention.”

Glancing up, Steve catches Tony’s grin as it melts from smug to soft. Smiling to himself, Steve continues trimming the hair along Tony’s collar. It’s not exactly the high-and-tight he used to do for the Commandos, but he likes to think he’s not doing a _terrible_ job.

Tony sure hasn’t complained, and it certainly isn’t for a lack of admiring himself. 

Steve sets the scissors down on the counter and starts brushing the stray hairs from Tony’s shoulders. Once he’s satisfied that Tony isn’t going to squirm around again, Steve reaches for the clippers.

Tony clears his throat. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you enjoy it just as much as I do.” And bless him, he doesn’t turn around, just looks up to catch Steve’s gaze in the mirror. “Why?”

Flipping the switch on the clippers, Steve takes a second to think about it. As he runs the blades along the back of Tony’s neck, concentrating to make sure everything is straight, he turns Tony’s question over in his mind.

If he thinks about it, Steve’s sure that cutting Tony’s hair really _shouldn’t_ mean anything. It’s just a haircut, right? He and the Commandos used to take turns cutting each other’s hair in the field; they had to, if they didn’t they'd all end up dirty, tired, _and_ scruffy. And they couldn’t have that.

Besides, _someone_ had to keep Dugan’s mustache in combat order.

But really, Steve thinks, it’s not about the haircut at all. There’s something intimate about the ritual, about trusting something as important as your personal appearance to another person. Trusting another person to come near you with sharp objects, and leave you looking better than when they started.

Steve knows the answer to Tony’s question only seconds before it leaves his lips in a whisper.

“You trust me.” Switching the clippers off again, Steve brushes his hand down Tony’s neck, sending the last few dark curls tumbling to the floor. He replaces the clippers on the counter, and wraps his right hand around Tony’s shoulder, brushing his thumb down the back of the brunette’s neck.

Catching Tony’s upturned gaze in the bathroom mirror, Steve says it again.

“You trust me. I guess that’s why I like it. It’s good to know that you put faith in me, even for something stupid, like a haircut.” Still stroking the back of Tony’s neck, Steve leans down to press a kiss into the smaller man’s freshly-cut dark hair.

Tony reaches up to lay his hand atop Steve’s on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. His smile twists into the wicked smirk that means he’s especially pleased with whatever he’s about to say.

“It’s good to know that all those times I’ve let you lead me into ill-advised battle against doombots and alien armies pale in the face of a haircut, Cap.”

And it’s times like this, with the sound of their laughter ringing off the tiled walls of the bathroom, that Steve feels the closeness between them the most. He revels in the warmth that’s wrapped itself around them; the almost-tangible lightness that’s worked itself into all of the empty, dark places between them and tied them closer together. 

Sometimes, Steve wonders what he’s done to deserve it. What he possibly could’ve done to bring himself this kind of happiness.

But then Tony catches his gaze in the mirror, his fit of laughter having already tousled his hair into complete disarray again, and squeezes his hand, and Steve stops worrying about what he’s done to deserve this.

He’s too busy enjoying it.

Leaning in to press his cheek against the side of Tony’s face, Steve says, “I guess you can turn around, now.” 

That’s all the encouragement Tony needs to spring up from the chair, nearly knocking it over in his rush to get his arms around Steve.

“Thanks for the haircut.”


End file.
